I had a bad day last week when I had to shut my office door and cry, just because so many people in a short period of time had asked for details about how the pregnancy is going. It is clear that I am not doing the update thing as frequently or in as much detail as pregnant women are supposed to. If I were a normal expectant mom, I would eat these requests alive, and I would probably have multitudes of blog entries already. I would be writing about potential name choices, nursery updates, tiny clothing. I would be seeking advice from other moms and comparing notes. It probably seems strange that I am not thrilled to dwell on those details, and I often feel guilty (for the sake of Peanut mainly) that I am not.
But let's face it: everything is contingent--contingent on Peanut living. The names, the clothes, the carefully chosen diet, the sleepless nights trying to find a comfortable position while manipulating a huge belly. Imagine what it would be like to obsess over these wonderful little details, to set everything in order, to prepare so carefully to be the best Mommy possibe...and for it all to be for naught, to come home with empty arms. To stare at all of those stupid little clothes all organized and folded, the baby wipes drying up in their container, the baby music CDs waiting in a pile next to the stereo. For none of it to make an iota of a difference. Then I understand: it is no wonder that Mommy is a little different this time around. Mommy and Daddy are both different. We're very cautious, because everything is contingent on Peanut living. Being excited about any of this process carries with it an assumption that we can not afford to make any more. I think we are both ok with this, but it is probably a little unnerving to everyone else.
All this thinking about how Jon and I are different, though, reminded me of a poem that I saw on the Internet once, a poem that reminds me that we are not the only ones who will be different. Peanut, if he or she does live, will be different too. The thought of it warms my heart.
A Different Child
by P. Waldron
A different child, people notice
There's a special glow around you.
You grow surrounded by love
Never doubting you are wanted;
Only look at the pride and joy
In your mother and father's eyes.
And if sometimes between the smiles
There's a trace of tears,
One day you'll understand.
You'll understand there was once another child.
A different child.
Who was in their hopes and dreams.
That child will never outgrow the baby clothes.
That child will never keep them up at night.
In fact, that child will never be any trouble at all...
Except sometimes, in a silent moment,
When mother and father miss so much
That different child.
May hope and love wrap you warmly
And may you learn the lesson forever:
How infinitely precious,
How infinitely fragile is this life on earth.
One day, as a young man or woman
You may see another mother's tears
Another father's silent grief
Then you, and you alone will understand
And offer the greatest comfort.
When all hope seems lost you will tell them with great compassion:
"I know how you feel. I'm here because my mom tried again."